Girl in the Window

Every morning we meet. Always at the same time, usually the same place. As I’m shaking off the sleep and searching for daily thoughts, I see her. She calmly regards me without any words at first. The water makes a rainbow of light in the coffee grounds of the pour-over, then I glance upward to see her in the window, free to stare as long as I want. She looks different in this place, I can see a younger version of her instead of the one that I’m expecting. Her brown hair is unkempt and she lacks the self-consciousness that we as females have been trained to wear like a false badge of humility. We are similar, but not a mirror image.

Time does not accumulate on her by carving lines upon her skin the way it does regular people. It does not tire her out with the incessant demands of the mundane tasks she must complete. This girl; she exists in her own time and space. Full of ideas, the possibilities of her mind overflowing with words, with the need to bounce her voice off of others to find out which things to keep and which ones to discard like a card game. The very best of her is waiting. Sitting utterly still for the painfully long durations in between interactions where she is fully seen and valued for all that she can offer.

Surprisingly, she does not view me with any of the running dialogue from my own head. Her gaze is quiet, allowing me to think freely without any of the restrictions that another person’s presence can impose. Who am I now? Who am I becoming? What do I see in her that I don’t see in myself?

The water line has reached its mark. It’s time to add the cream and sugar to the steaming cup of midnight and watch it metamorphosize into a caramel concoction of a liquid spark plug that will race through my veins and bangs on all the doors inside, telling the occupants it’s time to wake up and make things happen! Our time is done for today, but I’ll be back to see the girl in the window tomorrow. She waits for me there.